


Ninth Crewmate

by aegirine



Category: Among Us (Video Game)
Genre: Aliens, Gen, Mind Control, Outer Space, Parasites, Partial Mind Control, Worldbuilding, sorta?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-22
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26592751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aegirine/pseuds/aegirine
Summary: It was just a headache, at first. Then the hunger crept in, insatiable and bloodthirsty.There's a voice in Red's head. It isn't his.
Relationships: None explicitly stated
Comments: 43
Kudos: 258





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> According to the Among Us Wiki, the Imposters are "parasitic shapeshifters". 
> 
> Which... just confuses me. How can they be both? You'd think if they are shapeshifters, they wouldn't need to parasitize anything. Vice versa for if they are parasites. Am I missing something here?
> 
> Anyway, I threw the 'shapeshifter' part out the window. Parasites sound like a much more intriguing scenario to me; any Animorphs readers out there? More chances for internal conflict, rather than straight up killing a crewmate at the start.
> 
> (That's me trying to sound more sophisticated than I actually am. Basically, I just thought it was fun.)

There were many things that existed in outer space. 

Red had never personally encountered anything, but people talked, and stories circulated. Pink, one of the top xenobiologists on-site, had cheerfully confirmed gossip from her fieldwork, and the crewmates had liked to gather around her at lunch, engrossed in her ramblings of alien food-webs and ecosystems.

But out of all of the tales, there was one that was confirmed system-wide. Imposters were parasites that slowly developed within the skull. When they finally matured, they hijacked the brain and went on a rampage, killing and devouring anything in their way. Crews would return only half-manned, with gruesome tales of frothing jaws and razor-sharp tongues.

The _Skeld_ had been set to take off within the week, but the departure had been delayed when the crew of _Altair_ had arrived in an emergency landing, broken and bloodied. 

“It’s worse than that,” said Pink that day. “I got called over to give my opinion on the Imposter invasion of the _Altair_. The Imposter didn’t go on any rampage— it _integrated_. The crew said that they didn’t suspect a thing.”

“What?” said Orange. Orange was a new addition to their crew, but he had taken a shine to Pink’s chatter just as much as the rest of them. “So the Imposter didn’t kill anybody?”

“Oh no, it did,” said Pink grimly. “But it did it quietly. There was no frenzy. It just hung back and picked off people one by one. The lone crewmates were the first to go.”

“What, so it was, like, an Einstein-level genius of an Imposter?” asked Purple, tilting her head.

“Maybe,” said Pink. “I don’t like this at all, though. Imposters override and replace the brain, remember? Supersedence. If they already can connect themselves to our nervous system...”

“Ah,” said Black, quick to catch on. Black was smart like that. “Instead of stripping out the hardware and inserting their own CPU, Imposters could potentially tap into the hard drive first.”

Cyan and White’s expressions instantly cleared, but Red was still lost. 

(Red wasn’t an engineer, alright? Matching yellow wire to yellow wire, sure; connecting a tablet and pressing ‘UPLOAD’, fine, but anything beyond basic maintenance was a mystery. He’d take navigations over electric any day.)

Except everyone else was nodding along with Black, so it was general knowledge that Red must have somehow forgotten. Um.

Would he look like an idiot, asking for explanations?

Blue leaned towards Red surreptitiously. “Instead of just controlling the body, the Imposter might have learned to access memory and mimic behavior. It’s like the Imposter hijacking a ship and also figuring out how to use the comms and satnav database systems.”

He smiled, grateful for Blue’s explanation before the words registered. “Oh! That’s really bad,” he said, perhaps a bit too loud; White snorted and Black instantly adopted his long-suffering attitude. Red flushed.

“Absolutely,” Pink said. “Being stuck with an Imposter onboard a ship is already a death trap. Imposters adapting to interpret our brains? Mimic our behavior? That’s a slaughterhouse.”

Yellow shuddered. “It could be any of us?”

She nodded. “That’s why I strongly recommended that all ships require a bioscanner in their Medbay. It’s not perfect, but. People can lie. Scanners won’t.”

“We have a bioscanner in the _Skeld_ ,” said Green. Bioscanners weren’t standard equipment, but Pink had thrown her weight around and sent in a special request for one. It wasn’t just a handheld model, either; she had gone all out with a full body-length, cutting-edge prototype. She was quite proud of it.

“We do,” agreed Pink. “I think we’ll be cleared for launch soon, because of it. Make sure to use it frequently.”

Everyone mulled that over for a bit.

“I don’t think it’ll come down to that,” said Cyan, sitting back. They’d always been the calmest member of the crew.

“We can hope,” said Pink. “But it’s better safe than sorry.”

* * *

Red knew the crew worried about the Imposters. A part of himself balked in fear at the idea, too: if the Imposters could really be _anybody_ , then what would they do if somebody got infected? The bioscanner only scanned things. Pink had said that the parasite was “terminal”, that there wasn’t any cure for it. 

If somebody was found to be an Imposter— Pink, with her amazing stories, or White, with his smart quips, or Yellow, with her really awesome music playlists, or… or Blue…

There wasn’t any cure. Orange had asked Pink what they would do if they found an Imposter.

Pink’s face had fallen, and Green had stepped in.

“We throw them out the airlock,” said Green. “We have to get them before they get us.”

It wasn’t a good thought to stomach, but it would hopefully never happen. 

“Imposter reports have only really picked up these last two months,” Pink had said. “Compared to the amount of spaceships operational in space? The chances are pretty much null.”

So Red put the subject out of mind. He was good at that sort of thing. He set trajectories and blasted asteroids to Yellow’s music and sat for hours on end beside the biggest cafeteria window, obsessively mapping out every planet and major constellation he passed on a thick pad of paper. Blue would sit next to Red to watch them draw. Sometimes Black would drop by too, if White and Cyan were busy. 

(Black hadn’t understood, when he first saw it. “It’s a waste of material,” he’d said cuttingly, gaze sweeping dispassionately over Red’s painstakingly sketched out drawings. It had hurt. Red knew Black was smarter, knew Black was right.

But Blue had patted his shoulder and quietly taken Black aside. When he’d returned, Black had seemed stiffer, but more attentive.

“Sorry,” Red had blurted out when Black approached him. “I won’t do it anymore. I can compost it for O2.”

“No. I should be the one apologizing. I misunderstood,” said Black. “I thought… well. Does it make you happy?”

Red nodded tentatively.

“Then it’s not a waste.” Black had looked over the sketchbook again, then, and said, awkwardly, “Your sketches are very accurate.”

The compliment had made Red’s week.)

For a while, the _Skeld_ had flown on smoothly. There were no malfunctions. Navigation was right on course, set to land at Polus well within the estimated time.

Then the power went out.

* * *

Red had woken that day with the worst headache in his entire life. He spent the first hour of the day cradling his head in his hands, praying that the pressure would lessen.

“Can you stand?” asked Blue worriedly, hovering over Red’s cot. “We should get you to Medbay.”

Red groaned. “My head feels like it’s about to burst.” At last, though, he stumbled to his feet, immediately supported by Blue. Red squinted, the dim lighting assaulting his eyes even through the visor.

Whatever Red had felt was nothing compared to the blinding light of the corridors. He made a sound of pain and squeezed his eyes shut. “Too bright!” Red hissed. “Way too bright.”

Red could feel Blue readjust his grip so that his hands rested on each of Red’s shoulders. “I’ll guide you,” said Blue. “Is that okay?”

When Red nodded, Blue carefully steered the two of them through the hallways. Even without seeing, Red could tell where they were going by direction: turning past Weapons, through the Cafeteria… finally, Blue dropped his hands. There was a distinct _click_.

“I turned off the lights,” said Blue. “Better?”

Cautiously peeling his eyes open, Red took a quick peek. And then stared.

“Red?” asked Blue.

“I— uh, yeah, I guess,” breathed Red, eyes darting around the darkened Medbay. The equipment lights were extremely bright if Red looked directly at them, but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Red could make out every detail in the room, from the edge of Blue’s visor to the crinkles of the trash bin liner.

“Good,” said Blue, relieved.

Something stirred inside Red in response, primeval and sinister. The hunger hit then, ravenous and greedy, so strong that Red’s knees buckled at the weight of it.

_Kill him_ , that hunger in Red’s head said, not in words, but in forceful bursts of emotion. _Alone. Unprotected. Food._

The image of crunching bone and blood-soaked flesh raced through Red’s mind, and he doubled over, nausea rising in his chest.

“I think I’m going to hurl,” Red gasped. Blue swore.

“Close your eyes, Red— I’m turning the light back on.”

He did. Blue shoved something round and plastic into his hands— the trash bin. Red promptly emptied his stomach into it. The medicine cabinet creaked as Blue rummaged through the shelves.

“Here,” he said, handing over a cup and two capsules. “It’s supposed to settle your stomach. Tell me when you’re good to stand.”

Red downed the water in one go, breathing becoming steadier. The voice had vanished with the contents of his stomach, along with the headache. Red opened his eyes and was utterly relieved to find that his vision was now back to normal. As if nothing had happened in the first place.

Maybe he was imagining it. Could headaches make people hallucinate?

“I… I think I’m good now,” Red said slowly. “Just needed a breather.”

“Up for the bioscan?”

A well of panic that was not Red’s slammed into him, spine turning icy with fear. “No!” he yelped instinctively. 

“No?” said Blue, confused. 

That was when Red realized how much trouble he was in.

The bioscanner. The one that showed what a person _was_. Even the thought of it sent a stab of agitation into his chest, swift and strong and _not his._

The Imposter had hijacked him. He was infected. He was going to… to...

He had to tell Blue.

“I—” he said, and stopped. The words wouldn’t come out. _I’m an Imposter, Blue. You have to get out, tell the others_ — he had it all on the tip of his tongue, but none of it made it out of his mouth, choked away by a fierce, fearful instinct of _no, stay hidden_.

“Blue, I’m— I...”

Blue looked back, concerned and uncomprehending. “You can sit down as long as you need. We checked Navigations last night; I’m sure it can wait a bit longer.” He shot a glance at the bioscanner. “Actually, I’m sure it won’t hurt for me to do a self check-up, will it?”

Red struggled with his words some more. “Yeah,” he echoed at last, thoughts racing. “Doesn’t hurt.”

If his words couldn’t work, then the bioscanner would have to do. There was no way Blue would let Red leave without one, mother-hen that he was.

He watched as the net of light passed over Blue’s body, chiming gently as it finished. Red’s heart rate raced crazily at the sign of completion, a rabbit-paced _thump thump thump_ of alarm, and a brief, dark echo of satisfaction flitted through his mind. No Imposter was going to get out of this one, not on Red and Blue’s watch.

(If it had to be one of them, he was glad it was him.)

Blue looked over his results. “Ah,” he said sheepishly. “Looks like I’m not getting enough sleep.” He snapped a quick photo on his tablet, before turning back to Red. “You good? I can help you over to the scanner if you need it.”

The feeling of ice swept through his spine again, but this time Red was ready for it. He pushed down the voice with a last burst of power, head splitting with pain, and opened his mouth, hell-bent on agreeing—

And suddenly the ship shuddered, a great rumble that made the cabinets in the Medbay rattle. The lights flickered once, twice, the dying glow of birthday candles being blown out for wishes; and then, at last, there were no lights at all.

* * *

“Have you seen Purple, Black or Orange?” asked Green when Red and Blue arrived at the Cafeteria. The emergency generator had kicked on after a few minutes, and the yellow tint of the back-up lights had changed his suit’s color to a duller shade of olive. “They haven’t arrived yet.”

“No,” said Blue, nonplussed. “Haven’t seen them at all this morning. Red and I were at Medbay the whole time.”

Red shuddered quietly, feverish, jaw clamped down like a vice. The bioscanner had gone offline with a sharp pop, and even as his dread set in, a wave of sheer relief had overpowered everything else. 

_Hungry,_ said the voice insistently, almost childishly. Red would have found it hilarious in one of Purple’s horror movies. Then the voice— no; then the Imposter (because that was what it was, an alien out to eat everybody onboard) thrashed, clashing its will against Red’s, and Red would barely hold on against the onslaught of pure want. 

_No die. Need to live. Hungry. KILL._

The hunger howled, aching and hurting and frothing with need, and it took Red everything he had to reign it in. He bit down harder, the pain blossoming on his tongue, afraid to move a muscle in fear of losing his restraint. 

Pink (who now looked more of a pale blue in the yellow lighting than anything else) looked over the two of them sympathetically. “Medbay? Are you two sick?”

Red shook his head once, a jerky, harsh movement. “Just me. Got a headache,” he choked out. The Imposter, sensing his distraction, surged for control.

No! Red wrested it down, mentally snarling. _You can’t take over my body. You can’t kill my crewmates. I won’t let you. And if you try, I’ll make sure they kill us first._

At that, the pressure paused. It wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t pushing either; it sat there, a foreign entity in Red’s mind. Then slowly, steadily, the presence retreated, and Red nearly collapsed in relief, mouth tasting of blood.

(His stomach felt painfully empty.)

“Well,” White continued, oblivious to Red’s internal struggle, “Medbay’s down for the time being, so I hope you can handle it. In fact, everything’s down except for O2 and lighting.”

“Even the engines?” asked Blue. “There’s a planet base only an AU or so out of our way. If we perform an emergency landing…”

“Yeah, no,” snapped White. “If the emergency generator had to support the engines too, it’d run out in the first half-hour. If you like breathing, those engines stay off.”

“What about requesting help? We could comm for a ship,” suggested Yellow, but Pink was already shaking her head, looking troubled.

“I… don’t think there will be any to spare,” said Pink, guilt in her voice. “They took in my suggestion. All ships would be being refit for bioscanners right now.”

Green nudged her gently. “No use in what-ifs. Do we know what went wrong?”

“We need to ask Black,” said Cyan. “He was checking the Reactor before things went sideways. He’d have the best idea of what happened and how to fix it.”

Yellow shifted uneasily. “It’s been at least ten minutes, and they still aren’t here. Should we go look for them?”

Green frowned, but before they could decide on anything, the clunking of rapid footsteps echoed against the metal floors.

Orange bolted into the room, Purple on his heel, both of them panting heavily. Orange's face was filled with a terror that Red had never, ever seen. Purple stood next to him, stock-still.

"Black— Black's— I tried to use comms and they were offline, but— Black," said Orange, and broke off, harsh breaths and choked sobs.

The Imposter suddenly resurfaced, with an emotion akin to delight. Red stiffened, but the monster was not interested in control.

_Same_ , it said, bright with joy and feral excitement. _Same-being. Brother. We eat together._

The sentence hit him like a sledgehammer. Same? Brother? Red’s mind spun. Orange and Purple, no, it couldn’t be…

His heart sank. 

Black. Where was Black?

Even as Red thought it, his question was answered.

“Black is dead,” said Purple in a numb, almost detached voice. “He’s… there’s only a torso left. No head.”

For a moment, the entire room stood still, silent in shock. Then all hell broke loose.

Orange collapsed to the floor in a heap, Pink scrambling to catch him as he fell. Blue rushed over to the scene as well, supporting Orange’s other shoulder, and the two of them dragged the unconscious crewmate over to lie down on a bench, the closest thing to a bed that was available at the moment.

White bolted for the doors. Cyan tackled him to the floor. “Let go of me!” White yelled, struggling wildly. “Damn it Cyan, LET ME GO!”

“Are you insane? Do you want to die too?!” snarled Cyan, the loudest Red had ever heard them raise their voice. “Because that is _exactly_ what will happen the instant you run off!”

White jabbed an elbow at Cyan’s face, tearing himself out of their grip. “BLACK!” he screamed, a terrible, pained noise. Cyan rushed back over to subdue him, this time followed by Green. “BLACK!”

"Stop it!" said Yellow, her voice high and shrill. "Stop fighting! IT WON'T BRING HIM BACK!"

White froze. Cyan and Green slowly released him, backing away. He sat up, quiet as the grave.

Yellow looked at Pink. "Is it?" she said, her tone pleading for her suspicions to be false. 

Pink nodded, slowly. 

White laughed, a short, harsh bark that was completely devoid of joy. "Imposter," he spat, gaze moving to meet each and every visor. "There's a damn Imposter on board."

Cyan finished the unspoken thought. "So it's one of us. One of us killed him."

White stood, shaking. "They're _dead_ ," he said, and though his voice broke, the hatred was clear. "I'll kill them myself."

But Red's attention was drawn to the final member of the _Skeld_ standing at Orange's side, unnaturally quiet.

Red wasn't as close to Purple as Yellow. He knew her well enough, though. All the crewmates knew each other; it was a given when one spent months at a time together on a small spaceship. 

Purple loved horror movies. Aliens or zombies, ghosts or werewolves or mind-bending alternate egos, she knew them all. Movie night was often sourced from her extensive collection. It was impressive how unfazed she was when everyone else cowered behind their pillows and popcorn. (Unlike Blue, whose legendary death grip squeezed the life out of Red's hands every time a jumpscare played.) Her fearlessness carried over in real life, too. The one terrifying time O2 had shut down, she had fixed it with a determined glare and steady hands.

The others had missed it in the hubbub. Red might have too, if not for the pleased purr that echoed in the back of his head.

The numb, aloof voice. The rigid cardboard posture. The silence. None of that was Purple.

Purple's visor raised to meet his, body language empty of expression.

_(Brother.)_

Red felt sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got stuck on my math homework, so I decided to continue my longfic. But then I got stuck on my longfic, so I decided to write the beginning of another fic.
> 
> Darn.
> 
> ̶(̶D̶o̶ ̶y̶o̶u̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶n̶k̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶p̶a̶c̶e̶s̶ ̶b̶e̶t̶w̶e̶e̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶l̶i̶n̶e̶s̶ ̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶ ̶l̶o̶n̶g̶?̶ ̶I̶t̶ ̶l̶o̶o̶k̶e̶d̶ ̶o̶k̶a̶y̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶D̶o̶c̶s̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶s̶e̶e̶m̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶i̶d̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶r̶e̶.̶ ̶I̶'̶m̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶s̶u̶r̶e̶.̶)̶
> 
> Nevermind, we're all good!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, I'm back! I'm amazed at the response! Hopefully this next chapter is exciting too :P
> 
> I just learned that Among Us spells it as "Impostor", and that the dictionary spells it "Impostor", and I'm having an internal crisis at "Imposter" being the alternate spelling.
> 
> It's 4 in the morning. I don't know what I'm doing.

They retrieved the body.

Pink went, because she was the closest they had to a doctor. White and Cyan followed. When they returned, they brought with them a metal flatbed cart from storage. Pink was pale. Cyan looked tired, shoulders slumped. They carried an unidentifiable mass of dark material, cradling it gently in their arms.

White was the one pushing the cart. His hands were white-knuckled over the handlebar, but he steered the flatbed delicately. As if it were made of glass. 

The tarp-covered bundle on the cart was unnaturally small; nothing like the tall, disciplined figure Red once knew. _Headless_ , Red recalled with a lurch, and wished he hadn’t known.

Nobody mentioned the dark scarlet that pooled on the fabric. 

Nobody really said much of anything at all.

They stopped outside of the airlock. White dropped his hands and bunched them into fists.

“He doesn’t deserve this,” said White. He looked away from the cart, from the innocent-looking bundle that could have been a rolled up tent, maybe, or a pile of logs wrapped up tight. Not a body. “He…we said we’d go check out the Polus canyons once we landed. All three of us. He said he’d bring the wrenches.” A thick laugh. “Workaholic. Who the hell brings wrenches on a tour?”

“I’m sorry,” said Pink quietly. “White... Cyan...”

“He deserves a real funeral,” said Cyan. They lifted their object in front of them, and with a start Red realized it was the remains of Black’s helmet. It was barely recognizable. The helmet had been effortlessly torn apart, like it had been made of paper mache instead of radiation-shielding thermal material. The visor was completely missing. Only a few shards of glass hung to the edge of the broken frame. Red had been told that the glass was bulletproof.

(Black had never stood a chance.)

“I’m sorry,” repeated Pink again, sounding on the verge of tears. “We don’t have a cryptobiosis chamber. We don’t even have a freezer. The body would start to rot before we’d get back to solid ground.”

Silence drifted back into the room.

“Black was a good crewmate. He was even more of a stickler for the rules than me,” said Green at last. Cyan let out a soft exhale of almost-laughter at that. “He may as well have been our co-leader. He was hard-working and always there for everyone.”

Green reached into their pocket and withdrew a thin wallet, the standard-issued one that came with identification cards. Out of that, Green took a small, square piece of paper— no. A photo. 

They had taken that group photo just after their assignment to the _Skeld_ , clustered around the cafeteria table. Nobody had thought to bring any tripod or selfie stick. Blue (who had the longest arms) had held up the camera, and the crew had packed themselves around him in increasingly ridiculous positions until, eventually, Black had thrown up his hands and recruited Green to help tie the camera to a stack of chairs. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Green laid it atop the cart.

It broke the stillness like a flood. Blue was next, pulling a small screwdriver out of his belt. “I never got the chance to return this," he said, solemnly. 

Red knew that screwdriver; Blue had needed it to open up a panel late last night with funky screws. He hadn’t quite understood _why_ (Blue had said something about air ionizers?), but Black had come over and lobbed a screwdriver at them when they’d asked.  
  


“Hexalobular internal #02,” Black had said, writing himself a note on his clipboard. “Just give it back when you’re done.”

It was such a small, insignificant memory. 

Now it was the last memory of Black that Red would ever have. 

Blue smiled weakly, setting down the screwdriver next to the photo. “There. You can’t say I forgot.”

Slowly, the group added what meager possessions they had. A keychain. A small enamel pin. A single, well-worn ball-point pen.

Red watched Purple like a hawk as she offered a woven bracelet from her wrist, stomach churning. As if on cue, a flicker of awareness rose to his consciousness. A warning.

_No telling_ , it whispered, and instead of the fear that had crashed into his brain at the idea of his own outing, here it felt more… mischievous. Sly, in an oddly naive way. 

_Shh_ , it said, in the secretive way people would glance around before sharing gossip. Like this was all a game. Like it and Red were on the same team, and victory would surely be theirs if he only _hushed_.

Purple bowed her head, stepping away from the airlock.

She looked completely innocent. Picturing her over a bloodied body— over what used to be a person that had sat by Red to watch comets but was now just a wreckage of flesh and organs— it was almost unthinkable, and yet…

A _secret_ , reminded his Imposter. Red shuddered.

Just until they fixed the generator. They just had to stick together until the generator was fixed, and then they’d be able to get out of this mess. They’d scan everyone, comm a base and get help, and everyone would be fine. Pink would figure out how to fix him and Purple. They’d give Black a proper ceremony.

As long as they were together, the Imposter couldn’t get them. Not when Purple’s identity would be revealed. It wouldn’t dare.

...Right?

A nudge broke him from his thoughts. Blue tilted his head ever so slightly towards the airlock, and _oh_. 

This was Red’s chance to say goodbye.

He swallowed, mouth dry, and reached for a well-worn compartment on his suit. The notepad was there, like always. Blocky, cramped words and sketches filled the pages, carefully mapping out solar system after solar system. Here and there were Blue’s doodles of themselves, simplified down to small jelly-bean figures, tucked between lists of supergalactic coordinates and planetary orbits. Every once in a great while, Black’s meticulously neat handwriting would grace the paper, fleshing out details: color indexes, notes on well-known xenoforms, even a lecture on black holes that took up half a page.

Red flipped back towards the beginning of the booklet, searching…

There. 

It wasn’t the first diagram he’d drawn. That would be from the training center back at Neoma, where he had “borrowed” the notepad in the first place. Instead, it was from Red’s third satellite base, Triton. The page was slightly smudged; he had drawn his first few maps in pencil. But there, on the left-hand side of the page, was a small capsule: _Triton SO148_. In shaky words next to it (it had been a rather hasty, excited addition) was the first mention of home.

_Skeld CR10._

In the corner were a pair of ink-dark sentences, noticeable against the graphite-gray constellations.

First, with an enthusiasm that leaked through the page: _THAT’S US!!!_ Blue had doodled a smattering of mini-crewmates to accompany the sentence. 

Then, in immaculate font: _January 18th, est. 18:00 GMT, 2098 QE._

Because of course Black would remember the exact date Red joined the crew.

He tore out the page. It curled, leaf-like, in his hands. Just a page, and yet his heart ached when he pulled it free to hang limply from his grasp.

“Black,” Red started. The words choked in his throat. This time, it wasn’t from an Imposter. He bit his lip, drawing closer, stepping over the primary airlock seal. A deep breath.

He blinked.

The scent drifted in through his helmet, metallic and piercing. Blood, Red recognized distantly, but everything else about it was off. Under the slight beginning of decay was something tangy. Savory. Almost sweet.

Another deep breath. And another. Then a step closer, and Red’s mouth was watering now, stomach sharp and hollow. He hadn’t had breakfast that morning, what with the headache. He was pretty certain it was past lunch now, too.

The smell of rot wasn’t even that bad. Barely noticeable. 

One step. Two. The aroma only strengthened as he approached the tarp. The rest of the world was wiped away, his vision tunneling on the source of the scent, of the food. He reached out—

A glove swooped in and clamped down on his forearm. 

_“What are you doing?!”_

Red jolted _hard_ , snatching his hand away from the tarp like it had burned him. He backed away, heart beating wildly, breaths coming in rapid bursts, chest feeling like a weight had crashed into it.

(The Imposter growled, a mixture of annoyance and confusion and _why’d you stop?_ )

(The hunger waited, endless, eternal, seared into his bones.)

He had just— had almost—

The room suddenly felt stifling. It was too much, everything was too much, with White’s mask of fury, Cyan’s hand tightening on his arm, the stares piercing through his suit and onto his skin, the scent of blood lingering in his nostrils, a crooning siren’s call but it was Black and Black was _dead_ and he’d almost _eaten_ him and _it was too much_ — 

“Red? Are you alright?” Blue’s voice cut through. On any other day, it would have been a comfort, but right now Red couldn’t even bring himself to look at Blue.

Couldn’t move, not with the magnet-like attraction still pulling from his gut. Couldn’t stay, not with Black _right there_ and the others staring and Blue’s tone of worry making his heart twist. Couldn’t _breathe._

“Red, what’s—”

Blue stepped forward, boots making a soft but sturdy _thump_ on the tiled floor. It was that sound that finally broke Red out of his immobility.

He ran.

The loose page fluttered helplessly to the ground.

* * *

Red didn’t have any destination in mind when he left Cafeteria. His legs had simply moved. He did not care where they took him, either, as long as he was far, far away.

But at last he turned a corner, and Navigation was there, like always. He could name the function of every light and switch in this room, a second-hand reflex from his hours aboard. The equipment was dark and silent now. 

Red sank to the floor, hugged his knees, forced himself to stop gulping for air. Slow, deep breaths. He felt like he would burst. 

He could still smell the blood, thick and sweet.

(Confusion pulsed through his veins, layered in frustration and edged in that dark hunger Red now felt claw at his insides. They had been so close, so very close, and it wasn’t even _their_ kill like Red hated, why’d they stop, why’d they—)

_Stop it!_ He clutched his head, trembling, slow exhales all but forgotten in the haze of sudden desperation. _Stop controlling me!_

But even Red knew the truth. The Imposter had not said a word back in that airlock.

That had been _him_. Even if the urges hadn’t been Red’s, the choices had been his own.

_Get out of my head! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_

And all at once the Imposter was yelling too, a cacophony of sensations and not-quite words of frustration, fear, hunger, jumbled and distorted beyond recognition— 

(The room was supposed to be dark but he could see his hands, gloved outline clear and crisp, and what was Red, with these feelings that weren't his, yet bolted to the very fabric of his being?)

_(What was he?)_

Confusion and fear and hunger, and if it weren’t for his completely empty stomach he would have vomited again. He hiccupped in silent tears, breathing ragged and loud in the solitude of the empty Navigation room. The scream in his throat turned into panicked wheezing.

_“Red!”_

Red recoiled and looked up, still wheezing. Blue (of course, who else?) stood there, clear distress in every line of his body, an outstretched hand wavering in the distance between them.

“Blue, don’t— don’t come near me,” Red gasped out. 

“Okay,” said Blue. He exhaled, dropped his hand. “Okay. Just… stay with me, Red. Can you do that?”

Red nodded wordlessly, and Blue dropped to the floor across from him, tugging off his helmet.

“The guidelines—” said Red, but Blue just shook his head.

“Screw the guidelines,” Blue said, and smiled weakly. “Not like a bit of cosmic radiation matters in this situation. I’m here Red, okay? I’m right here.”

Red had never seen Blue’s full face except in the bunkers at lights-off, when everyone was half-shadow anyway.

His eyes shone blue, even in the dark room. His hair was messy with cowlicks, the way hair got after being scrunched up in a helmet for hours on end.

“Listen,” said Blue gently, his presence suddenly that much more alive without the helmet, “I’m going to name some stars, and you’re going to find them for me, alright?”

Another nod.

“Polaris,” started Blue, steady and soft. “Sirius. Canopus. Pollux. Acrux.”

The stars were familiar. Red knew all of them by heart. The constellations were slightly distorted, far from Earth as they were, but he methodically located and pointed out each one, one by one.

_Ursa Minor. Canis Major. Carina. Gemini. Crux._

Red snorted shakily at the last one. “Acrux isn’t here,” he murmured. “The window’s too short.”

“Is it?” Blue said, amused. “I wouldn’t know, not with satnavs off. You’re a genius.”

“I nearly failed training,” said Red, automatically slipping into the groove of a counter-argument that had been brought up time and time again. "Everything else just never sticks."

"Well, that's why I'm here. Navigation buds, remember?" Blue gave Red a small, crooked smile, eyes a velvety azure, unruly hair framed in starlight.

His chest felt tight.

"Can I hug you?" asked Blue cautiously. It was an awful idea, when Red could barely keep together, but he wanted it. Wanted the touch. He swallowed.

Blue must have understood, because he slowly made his way towards Red and knelt down, arms open.

The hug was warm and tight and secure and _Blue_. Red rested his head on Blue's shoulder, helmet bumping softly against the thermal layers. Exhaustion hit him like a truck.

"I didn't get to say goodbye." 

"We'll hold a funeral," said Blue, rubbing circles on Red's back. "When we get back. We'll hold a proper funeral. Just hold on for the rest of us, alright? We have to stick together."

A pause. “I’m hungry,” whispered Red, the closest he could get to a confession. 

“I don’t think anyone’s eaten yet today. We’ll have to grab something from the vending machines.”

“What if I was the Imposter?”

The words slipped out, easy as breathing and completely unexpected. Red’s eyes widened.

He tensed, waiting for a backlash. There was none.

Was the topic simply too broad to matter to the Imposter? Or was it still occupied from its previous outburst? Would it realize its mistake from Red’s thoughts and come back to try and take control?

“I think I’d know if you were,” said Blue.

“No.” Red broke away from Blue, picking his words out quickly. If this was his opportunity to bypass the verbal landmine in his brain, Red couldn’t screw up.

“Who do you think is the Imposter?” It wasn’t how Red would’ve started this, but it would have to do.

A beat. “You’re not the Imposter, Red.”

No, no, no—

“I’m not asking who _isn’t_ the Imposter. Somebody is an Imposter, Blue. Someone _has to be._ ” He grabbed Blue’s shoulders, helmet grazing Blue’s lightly-freckled nose, because Red was compromised, too weak to tell and too weak to throw himself off the ship, and Blue had to understand.

“Do you get it, Blue? Don’t trust anyone else.”

It was the most he dared to say.

_Don't trust Purple. Don't trust me_.

Blue’s brow furrowed deeper with each sentence. “What? But Red, I know you—”

"Know what?"

Red whirled around. Purple stared back at him from the door.

For a moment, there were only the heavy sounds of breathing.

Blue coughed, fumbling with his helmet as he pulled it back on. "I know that Red's, um, hungry," he said sheepishly, glancing between the other two astronauts. "Uhh, I guess we kinda ran off, didn't we? Does the crew want us back?"

Purple nodded, the only movement against an otherwise still body. "Yes." 

Her voice echoed hollowly against the sheet-metal walls. Empty. Inhuman.

Red was up in front of Blue in a flash, arms half-raised in a feeble protective stance. Purple’s gaze followed, tracking his movement like an owl, like a predator cornering a rat. He forced his legs to stand still. 

He couldn’t flee. Not with Blue.

But a hand landed on his arm, and Blue stepped forward, past Red’s frozen figure.

“Don’t look at him like that,” Blue snapped. “He’s not— we’ve all lost someone today, alright? Lay off.”

Purple glanced at Blue then, like his existence had completely slipped her mind. “Lay off,” she repeated. As if she was testing how the phrase fit in her mouth.

And even though Red was on edge, watching for the slightest hint of attack, he could not find a single trace of malice in Purple’s face. There was nothing, all emotions absent from her body like a jar wiped clean. 

It was like he was staring into the void.

Then Purple’s face turned to Red, the void staring back into his very being. It tilted ever so slightly, drawing Red in.

_Kin_ , sang the familiar melody.

Red’s hand was crushing Blue’s. He hadn’t noticed he was even holding the other’s hand.

Purple _knew._

Purple wasn’t actively hunting prey. Purple was meeting a predator.

And… three people. Two “Imposters”. One crewmate. The math hit him like a trainwreck.

He licked his lips, clammy. “We have to go,” said Red.

“Wha—”

He yanked on Blue’s arm, wrenching both of them out of Nav, past Purple, ignoring Blue’s yelps. She merely let them pass, head still tilted.

Watching. Waiting.

* * *

“What were you two _thinking_?” White slammed his hands on the table the instant Red and Blue walked into the cafeteria. The crew had taken up station around the central table, the one with the least rickety feet. A couple cans and energy bars dotted the blue surface, but it was clear nobody had found it within themselves to eat much. 

“Pink tells us all that the lone crewmates get picked off first, and what do you do? Run off from the group!” White’s cold gaze fell on Red as he spoke, clearly still furious with him.

Shame and guilt pierced Red again like an arrow. He’d forgotten what he’d done to Black, with everything that had happened in Navigations. It settled in him, a lump of solid ice. How had he forgotten?

“That’s funny,” Blue retorted, voice practically in the negative degrees. “If I recall correctly, _you_ were the one trying to run off last time.”

“You—!”

Cyan pulled White back from launching at Blue. “Where’s Purple?” They turned towards Blue, completely ignoring Red.

The lump of ice grew, cold and heavy and awful.

“I’m here.” Purple drifted into the cafeteria, posture open and words alert, no longer the void of indifference mere minutes ago.

(Watching. Waiting.)

Red flinched.

“Nobody can run off anymore,” said Green. “Consider it a temporary order.”

“Seconded,” said Pink. “Nobody’s clear, not without the bioscanner. Anyone could be an Imposter. We can’t risk splitting up. Red, what if Blue was an Imposter that took the opportunity to chase after a lone crewmate? Or Blue, what if Red was infected and was just waiting for someone to approach him alone?”

“No, wait,” said Blue slowly. “We know Red and I are clear.”

White scoffed. “By what standards?”

But Blue was quickly flicking through his tablet. “I did a scan in Medbay.” He triumphantly turned the screen to reveal the photo of the results, partially blocked by a harsh glare.

Everyone took a second to process that.

“That’s an awful picture,” Purple said in a perfect, monotone deadpan.

“Well, I wasn’t expecting it to be that important, or I would’ve taken a better one,” Blue said matter-of-factly. “Anyway, that means Red can’t be the Imposter either. I was with him the whole morning.” He exaggerated making a thumbs-up, looking eagerly towards Red.

It was a message to Red, an answer to the conversation they had earlier. And it meant something like this:

_Don’t worry, Nav-buddy, best bro, swell pal. I know you said something silly about not trusting anyone, but don’t sweat it! I trust you! We’ve got each other's backs!_

Red wanted to cry.

“Are you serious?” snapped White. “You don’t say anything until we mention the possibility of you being an Imposter, and now suddenly you’re showing us this? You can’t even see the timestamp on this. Isn’t that a bit _convenient_?”

“I’m sorry,” said Blue, bristling. “But Red and this picture both back me up. I suppose I should have brought it up earlier, when _someone was dead_?” His voice pitched higher. “Oh, no, Black is _dead_ , but don’t worry guys! Come look at this picture I took! See, I’m not a murderer!”

White stood, seething. “That’s— the lights were out for fifteen minutes! Everything was pitch black! You could’ve easily slipped anyone with you!”

“Stop it! This isn’t helping anything,” said Yellow, grabbing White’s hand. He yanked away, glaring. Yellow shrank back.

“Look, it doesn’t matter as long as we stick together,” said Cyan. They paused. “White and I went to Electrical and Reactor when we and Pink… well. We took a look. It’s pretty bad.”

“More like completely wrecked,” corrected White grimly. “It’s definitely not a mechanical error. The reactor got manually shut down, wires are torn out, a good bit of the machinery has been decalibrated or destroyed… the Imposter wasn’t fooling around.”

“How long would it take to get us moving again?” Yellow asked.

Cyan and White shared a look. “If everyone pitches in? Eight hours, bare minimum,” said Cyan at last. “None of it would be stable. We’d have to cannibalize some parts from non-vitals like Weapons and Security. And that’s only accounting for fixing the reactor and engines; we’ll need to fix Electrical to get the rest of the systems back on the mainframe, including O2. But we’d be moving.” 

“Well then,” said Green, standing. “We should all go, then. The sooner we can fix the engines, the sooner we’ll get back to safety.”

“What about Orange?” said Yellow. The rookie of the _Skeld_ was still slack, laying on a cafeteria bench. Yellow cradled Orange’s head in her lap. “Are we leaving him behind?”

“We could take him to Medbay,” suggested Pink. “Put him in a bed and give him an IV. He’ll be safe if we lock the doors and make sure everyone is accounted for.”

Green nodded sharply. “Good. If there’s an emergency, pull the fire alarms. White, Cyan, take the lead.”

* * *

White wasn’t lying. Electrical was a _wreck_. 

Blue whistled in soft disbelief, peering over a bent piece of equipment that had been flung to the floor. “Isn’t that the distribution calibrator? How are we going to replace that?”

Red brought a hand to one of the switchboards, tracing a series of puncture marks that tore straight through the sheet metal and shattered glass. He had never pretended to know how the machines work, but he didn’t need to be an electrician to know it was very, very broken.

He listened for a voice that did not exist outside of his mind. Nothing came.

The Imposter had not spoken up since Navigations. There was something, tiny and quiet, lingering under his thoughts, but when Red (despite himself) reached for it, it withdrew.

He didn't know what to make of that.

Pink picked up a bundle of wires. Each cable had been completely severed from its metal paneling. “This is very methodical behavior. I think it knew exactly what it was doing, sabotaging our main source of power.” She dropped the cables and examined the shattered circuits.

“I heard that the parasites induced morphological changes in the host as well, not just behavioral ones, but this…” she mumbled to herself, fascinated.

White and Cyan piled the computers they had torn out of Security into a corner, talking in the sort of jargon Red had never picked up.

“If we used this capacitor to— yeah, but then we’d have to…” 

“The transformers here… can we…”

At last, White looked up and waved over the others. “Green, Pink, can you two try and recover the data to the manifolds from the backup files? Yellow, Purple, you two know how the breakers work, right? Come help me and Cyan on them.”

He paused, surveying Blue with a cool gaze, but at last nodded sharply. “Blue, if you know your way around, we need as much help as we can.”

At last, White turned to Red, looking him up and down. Red shifted uneasily. It was common knowledge that Red was hopeless with electronics.

“You… know how to match up wires, right?” White said at last. He shook his head. “You know how to match up wires,” he repeated, as if saying it more assertively would make it true. 

“Sure,” said Red.

White grabbed something small and disc-like and lobbed it at Red. It bounced off of Red’s helmet, and he scrambled to catch it.

Ah. A roll of electrical tape.

“You’ll do wires, then. Match up the colors. Pink to pink. Red to red,” White said curtly.

Red sort of wanted to say that, yes, he _did_ know how wires worked, but he shut up. “Yup,” said Red. “Wires. Colors. Got it.”

He ran back over the mess of cables and stopped, blinked. None of the wires were pink. Or red. They were all drab shades of blue and yellow, like how everyone’s suits looked yellowish or bluish under the emergency lights, and there was no way Red was going to be able to match a bundle of fifty or so wires if they all looked like that.

“Uhh, White?” he asked, turning back. “How am I supposed to—”

There was a loud _crack_. The room was plunged into darkness.

Red yelped, eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of light.

  
  


Someone yelped, an exclamation of surprise. There was a crash. The room instantly filled with shouting.

“Purple? PURPLE!”

“I can’t see!”

“PINK?”

“EVERYONE CALM DOWN!” shouted Cyan. “Someone’s accidentally reset the lighting! Red, you’re closest. Can you get to the lighting panel? The left panel at the front?”

“Right!” Red scrambled to the handle, thankful he could see.

“Hit the glowing red button! The one at the corner! Then flip all the switches!”

The button was a dull orange-yellow, but Red didn’t question it. 

The lights flickered back on, darker than before but visible. “Everyone alright?” said Red, peering over the stack of equipment.

His heart filled with dread.

It was faint, so faint that Red wouldn’t have recognized it if not for the fact that the smell had been burned into his memory but an hour earlier.

The barest hint of sweetened iron.

White and Cyan, by the scrap computer parts. Blue (thank the stars) nearby, looking confused. Yellow next to Blue. Purple next to Yellow, Green at the other end.

He swallowed, eyes straying back to Purple. To the void.

_What have you done?_

Green said it out loud, sharp and worried.

“Where’s Pink?”

“No,” said Yellow suddenly, terror lacing her voice. “No, no no! She promised— I thought— _Orange!_ ”

White swore up a storm. “Everyone! Medbay! NOW!”

* * *

_It didn’t understand._

_When It had awoken, the tiny glimmer of awareness sprouting into feelings, thoughts, consciousness, there had been two constants._

_The Hunger was one of them. It was hungry, ravenous; It would devour the whole world, if It could, and still feel the demand tear at Its flesh, a never-ending pressure for a satisfaction that would never be filled. That had been all It had thought of, at the beginning. There had been no space for anything else._

_The other constant was Red._

_Red was a body. Red had feet that walked and hands that grabbed, had eyes that saw and a mouth that ate, and Red was all that It needed. It claimed Red. It owned Red. It was Red and Red was It._

_It didn’t understand._

_It was supposed to be Red and Red was supposed to be It. That was the rule._

_Something had gone wrong._

_It was Red. It had been from the very moment It came to be. It only ever came to exist because of Red, only would ever continue to exist because of Red, and so It was Red, see?_

_But Red wasn’t It. It had reached out to connect, to control, to make Red Itself, and It had stopped short. It had failed._

_It was Hunger. It was Red. Those were the rules, and yet_ —

_Red was not Hunger. Red was not It._

_Red didn’t want to be the Hunger, didn’t want to be It. Red had something else stuffed inside him, something that was burning or freezing or in-between, flipping back and forth within the span of minutes, sometimes bursting forth all at once at the same time. Red had no more room for the Hunger, and maybe It might have been able to fix that if It had the strength to reach a little further, a bit more, but that had not happened._

_It did not like this. It was Red, but Red was not It. The rule was broken._

_And yet_.

_It listened, despite itself. It retreated. It sunk underneath the surface thoughts, pushed past the Hunger, just a bit, and listened to the wilderness cascading through Red’s mind._

_(Fire. Ice. Everything in-between.)_

_It didn’t understand. It didn’t like it. And yet._

_Hunger, a never-ending void of desire. Hunger was just a baser form of greed, of want._

_And oh, did it want that. Wanted that piece of Red that was not, would never be It. Wanted the fire to burn. Wanted the ice to freeze._

_It didn’t_ understand _. This wasn’t supposed to happen. None of this was supposed to happen._

_(And yet.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are! Pink's missing, and the crew is going to check up on Orange, and I was planning on writing the scene in Medbay but I cut it off 'cause I wanted to get this out to y'all :)
> 
> I don't think being colorblind will have any relevance at all to the plot, but I couldn't let go of the idea so here you go: some random mentions that will no doubt never get touched on ever again
> 
> Also, I don't know what the heck I'm talking about with the electrical stuff. If you're someone who actually knows, please forgive me if I have written something wrong. I tried to keep it general but who knows
> 
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> (I'll probably go back over this chapter tomorrow morning and edit the heck out of it, but if there are any blatant errors please say so! :D)


End file.
